


Weiner Within

by DragonheadSkilax



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game), Don't Starve - Fandom, Dont Starve
Genre: City Life AU, Gen, M/M, Modern 1920s AU, Slice of Life, Weiner is Wes without makeup, it's vaguely DS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 22:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15783267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonheadSkilax/pseuds/DragonheadSkilax
Summary: Wes is always known for his exquisite makeup and profession as a mime, but when he's bare-faced is there anything left to know of him?





	Weiner Within

**Author's Note:**

> The reason for writing this is I liked the idea of Wes without makeup being a whole other person. This was a writing assignment so some slight changes of character are apparent.

 

He was standing at the square with a striped shirt with puffed sleeves, frazzled hair, and trousers with a waist band so high they must’ve stopped above the belly button. This is the common attire of the man who occupied the eastward junction of streets leading to the plaza. Wes is a man of passion, with his face covered in a white grease paint, black lips, and uneven eyeshadow.

A mime is what he is most passionate about, and a mime is what he will always be known for.

Sitting in invisible chairs, being blown by the wind, and performing the art of balloonmancy are just some tricks of the trade as a professional mime. He would earn perhaps just a few coins, even a few dollars. Though Wes is driven only by forces unknown. He continues pantomiming throughout his days. Wesly has always been known for days, months, and years, as Wes the mime.

It was starting to become sundown, this is where his shift ends. Bringing his hand to his face to read from an imaginary wrist watch, he gave out a sigh of relief and wiped his brow carefully to not wipe off any paint. He walked in a jolly manner, staying under the shadows of buildings for shade against the bit of sunlight still in the sky. At the end of the street there was an opened fire hydrant spewing water onto the street. A child jumped onto the pavement making splashes, while another kid stayed off from getting wet. The sight of such youthful play made Wes smile in joy, smile wrinkles up and eyes glistening.

The two children glanced up to see the dressed-up individual, giggling at the goofy faced man. Wes waved his gloved hand at the kids as he was beginning to pass by them. The young boy who was splashing with his feet pointed out and asked, “Can I have a balloon?”

This request was something Wes heard often and put both hands into his pockets, taking out a few balloons. Stretching the rubber and preparing to begin his craft, the boy with messy hair and dark skin watched in awe as the two long balloons were filled with air and the mime quickly began to work with them. The young girl with blonde ponytails and red skirt on the other hand, didn’t seem as enthusiastic with the performance.

“Do you ever go a day not being a mime?”

This question made him stop for just a second but shook his head in response. The balloon squeaks were stopped, and he offered a balloon spider to the boy who smiled wide showing his uneven teeth. “Look Wendy!”, said the boy, “it’s a spider!”

Wes grinned in satisfaction for the results, the boy turned back to him and said “Wanna play with us?”

The request took him by surprise, but remembering how hot the day was he couldn’t resist an opportunity of splashing a bit of cold water onto himself. He accepted the wonderful offer. Wes hopped into the puddle by the curve creating a splash. This was quite the sight for on lookers. Taking off his gloves and stuffing them into his pockets he cupped his hand into the spout of the hydrant and splashed the water onto his face. Makeup ran down and onto the stream that turned milky and pink.

“Aww no more clown makeup.”

“He’s not a clown, he’s a mime, Webster.” Wendy turned her head back to see a fireman in walking towards them. A red axe in hand and waving at them for attention. Without any change in attitude the blond ponytails girl turned to the boy, “Play time over...” Said in a monotone voice.

Wiping the water off his face Wes looked up to see the fireman. A large man with round nose who was heavily built, his best feature was the ginger beard sprawled on his face. He took a tool out from his uniform and put it onto the hydrant to end the gushing of water.

The fireman looked at us and said, “You ought to get goin’ now, eh?” The two kids stepped back onto the sidewalk. Wes put his suspenders down to take of his shirt to dry himself. Pedestrians walked by avoiding the watery scene.

The boy walked off to the steps of a building to meet a young woman with long black hair tied into two pigtails who stepped out into the sidewalk. She wore a red cardigan and black skirt; a smile came onto her face when the boy showed off the balloon spider in glee.

“Who’s the wiener over there? Did he really make that for you?” Said the woman in a sarcastic tone. Webster nodded in response, then paused, “Weiner? So that’s his name?”

The woman eyed the mime, or, the scraggly man with his oversized shirt in hand, and walked towards him.

“Nice of you to make that for him, Weiner!”, said the charismatic woman.

Wes smiled with a confused look on his face. Why was he called such a name? He brushed it off as some funny nickname for him. He just made a small bow and continued back onto his way back home to end the day.

Entering a new avenue, he walked into the doorway of a tenement building. Climbing two flights of stairs and at the end of the hallway was the door where he can finally rest. Just when he was halfway he patted his pockets for his keys. He couldn’t feel them at first, so he dug into them. Nothing. All he felt were a few balloons, his white gloves, and the bit of money he earned. He must’ve dropped them in a puddle earlier. He stood there disappointed in himself and drew his hand up to knock on the door.

Locks were heard unlocking and a man in wild hair and wearing a pair of goggles opened the door. The smell of chemicals and smoke puffed out making Wes squint into the apartment.

“What do you want? Who are you?” barked the unsightly man. He was short and had a long nose. His hair was a unique feature for him, and was one of the things Wes loved him for.

“Are you going to answer me or not?” yelled the man in a tired voice.

Wes didn’t want to put up with any more of his foolery and attempted to push the door open. But the short man at the other side resisted.

“Do I have to call the police?! Whoever you are with your unsightly attire must be some beggar asking for handouts!” he yelled in shock. He slammed the door and the sound of locks were heard again. The response left Wes in a dazed state. How could his fellow roommate just react to him like that? He knocked on the door once more, then twice, then three times until the room a few feet away opened. Out came an old woman, his neighbor Ms. Wickerbottom, who looked irritated. Wes raised his hand in greeting, thinking that she would offer some sort of way to help bring some sense into his oddball of a partner.

 

But instead he was told, “Quiet down young man?” she said, “Are you another one of Mr. Higgsbury’s furious inquiries? If so, then there’s no hope for you.”

She closed the door right then and there leaving him as confused as ever. People have been treating him like some sort of nobody. Unrecognizable to his own friends and just a new face to strangers. Wes flopped his shirt back onto his shoulder and walked back down the stairs. The wood flooring creaked and bellowed. The building was always a source of noise around the clock. Cries from young children, endless chatter from foreign neighbors, and the occasional mini explosion from the room of his roommate.

Back onto the first floor he went to the public phone. There was no onsite manager, so he had to make a call ordering a new key. He dialed in but realized, he can’t speak.

Living as a mime one must learn to live silent. Wes reflected on his current situation, does he even want to break his silence after so long? He put the phone handle back onto the holder. Many thoughts popped up into his head. When was the last time he ever spoke? There were moments of humming and hiccups, but actual words and sentences, there was no memory of it.

Who was he before he became a mime. The people he knew today only know him for what he is now. Wes the mime.

His shoulders went up in a shiver as he wasn’t wearing his striped puffy shirt. He put it back on, but he still didn’t feel like himself. Feeling his face, there was no residue on his fingers, no makeup that gave his identity as a mime. Did going the rest of the day without his makeup really put off a lot of people to make him be treated as a stranger?

More questions entered his mind until he walked towards a window to see his reflection. What he had seen wasn’t himself, what he looked back at was someone he never knew or perhaps never wanted to see again. A simple melancholy face with messy hair and dark skin. Faint scars laid on his brow and neck. Memories came to him and he quickly turned away from the reflection.

He couldn’t bring himself to face, that man, the person he once was so long ago. He sat down onto the first step of the stairway thinking just what to do now. He closed his eyes and sighed. Then a sudden sound erupted, waking him from his trance.

“Ring Ring! Ring Ring!” It was the telephone. The bells tapped emitting a ringing that echoed into the hallway. Waiting for someone to answer the call to speak up, or to be left unanswered…

**Author's Note:**

> It's a very long inside joke that the bare-faced man is called.....Weiner....don't ask me why,, it just works...


End file.
